The Problems of Ron Weasley-Fire Dragon
by Lady Hallen
Summary: Belonging to a clan of the first fire dragons to attend Hogwarts in a couple of centuries gives a dragon a lot of problems. Not in the least of it is Harry Potter, last in the line of mages descended from Merlin - who has an absolute LACK of self-preservation.


**Warnings: A lot of fantasy creatures. Just...a lot.**

* * *

The Weasley's were a family of fire-dragons, all of them born in one clutch but hatching slowly, as how it usually was with Molly's line, the Great Dragons.

Ron thought his family was weird.

This was attributed to coming across some dragon books and realizing that dragons were apparently supposed to be territorial and resent sharing space. He came to terms with it though, like he came to understand that while other dragons might be like that, the Weasley's were different. He attributed this to his dam's line, the Great Dragons of the East.

Ron's hoard was achievements.

Not even great, outstanding achievements like his clutch-brother Bill achieved in Hogwarts School of Magical Creatures, or world-breaking achievements like his clutch-brother Charlie.

No, Ron's hoard was a small collection of achievements, like watching the dawn for the first time on top of a hill. Making his dam laugh long and loudly after she'd argued with his sire and stank the den with her smoke in anger.

Ron's hoard was small and understated; something his family struggled to understand. He understood why that is, though it doesn't prevent the hurt from settling in.

After all, the entire family's hoards were large, flashy and attention grabbing.

Bill hoarded beautiful things and guarded them. He was good friends with the Veela's, and even moved there after he'd graduated, much to their dam's dismay.

Charlie didn't hoard things, but he chased after dangerous, exciting things. Usually adventures. He went through adventures in his human form and enjoyed the struggle of it. It was certainly attention grabbing. Mostly for their dams stress levels.

Percy hoarded facts. Everyone initially assumed he hoarded the printed word – libraries, but after clutch-sister Ginny had accidentally burnt his books and he didn't get angry, they all realized that he'd already hoarded and memorized everything written and didn't mind having the physical copies burnt.

The twins hoarded innovation. New things, exciting things and frequently invented them because the world moved too slow for them.

Ginny hoarded things that were different, like witch-sprite Luna who showed she was more sprite and less witch than the rest of her clan. This was difficult to their sire's stress levels too, since sentient things are difficult hoards and there are _rules_ about it that the government dithered about.

Compared to that, was it any surprise that Ron's small hoard was negligible? The twins even teased him sometimes, of having no hoard at all, that he wasn't a dragon after all.

It hurt, but Ron persevered. His hoard may have been small, but it was still beautiful and he guarded it jealously.

.

* * *

Meeting Harry Potter, last descendant of Merlin's line of Wizards, came as a complete shock to Ron.

He wasn't like Ginny, who'd damn near salivated over the thought of Harry Potter, so certain was she that he would belong in her hoard. Or Percy, who wanted to fill in the gaps of facts left when Harry Potter disappeared in the remnants a crumbling cottage in Godric's Hollow.

No, he didn't even know that he would become Harry Potter's friend, and would come to hoard his laughter.

Ron inhaled Harry's firefly smiles and his quiet giggles. He devoured the sun-brightness of Harry's green eyes as he discovered wizarding sweets. (Dragon sweets were entirely different and entirely too expensive for him to waste time on. His dam made better anyway.)

"You're a dragon!" Harry exclaimed, cheeks flushing red with amazement.

"Yeah," Ron said shyly. "Uhm, the scientific term is fire-drake. But yeah, dragon."

"You would be amazing in camping trips," Harry declared. "Have you ever had that?"

"No..?"

"Camping trips are supposed to be cold and filled with a lot of bugs. I can take care of the bugs and you can take care of the cold. And the marshmallows…" Harry sighed dreamily.

Ron's eyes were wide and he realized he was blushing. "Uhm, thanks."

And Harry became part of his hoard. Not that he would ever tell anyone that, making sentient creatures part of hoards was against the rules and having such a famous wizard as part of his hoard somehow made it difficult to call it small and negligible.

.

* * *

Hermione Granger, pixie half-blood, became part of his hoard when she'd clambered on top of a deranged mountain troll screaming in terror but still determined to save Harry's life.

Ron watched the proceedings with wide eyes, half afraid to Change into his larger shape for fear of squashing something important and half determined to do it anyway, if only to keep his hoard alive.

"Let go of him!" she'd shrieked, pixie eyes going bright with anger but deceptively strong arms wrapping around the Trolls thick neck and squeezing anyway. She had no wings, unable to manifest them yet but she looked like she didn't need them.

"Protection of the Seven – ah!" Harry yelped, clutching his staff for dear life. Apparently, being a world-famous wizard at birth meant nothing when he couldn't remember anything at all for sheer terror.

"What do you need?" Ron asked Hermione loudly, knowing that the pixie had a plan. Ron didn't mind asking her, his plans were long term and often took a long time to execute. Her plans were quick, fast and better for skirmishes like that.

"Get Harry down!" she yelled. Her hair was starting to crackle with lightning and Ron abruptly recalled that she'd said her sire had once been a hero and had swallowed a lightning strike. "I can't concentrate like this."

Manifesting his tail was infinitely easier than manifesting a hand or leg. It was safer too, less chances of collapsing the school. Their clutch was all large and collapsing something was a definite possibility.

He grabbed Harry with some concentration and the wizard helped, hand releasing something that smelled like the crashing of the tides and made the troll yelp.

"You alright?" Ron asked, restraining the urge to sniff Harry just to make sure. Sniffing was bad manners, especially without asking.

"Fine," Harry panted. "I hate being useless."

Ron patted him down, checking that all pertinent body parts were in place. "You just panicked. It's alright. Now, let's see if we can rescue the troll from Hermione." Ron hoarded Harry's startled laugh.

Hermione definitely didn't need rescuing. The troll smoked when they checked and her hair smoothed itself again. Her pixie eyes went back to its normal color and she jumped down delicately.

Both boys eyed her with varying degrees of trepidation. That was more efficient than any of them ever expected.

"Well, that was simple. I wonder why I panicked in the first place," she murmured.

Ron hoarded her smug smile and Harry's indignant protests.

.

* * *

Having Hermione as a friend was infinitely better, because taking care of Harry Potter's laughter was a full time job. One firedrake couldn't do it alone.

Harry had the tendency to attract trouble, realize what he'd done wrong and then _mope about it_. It drove a dragon mad.

Hermione realized his problem by the third incident. Ron liked her immensely. She solved a lot of his worries for his hoard.

"You need to learn more about Magic and Creatures Harry or one day, you'd get eaten no matter how famous your line is," Hermione declared, thumping a book of Creatures on top of Harry's homework about protective barriers and ignoring Ron's whimper of distress at the thought of his hoard being eaten.

Harry pouted. "It's not my fault everyone expects me to just know not to pull a were-cats tail, or that it would be extremely rude to ask if they hack up hairballs after the full moon."

Ron determinedly did not laugh. That had been a fun afternoon, playing chase with the pack of were-cats and keeping away from an angry McGonagall. In the end, Hermione had caught the both of them and reamed Harry out for not controlling his impulses and Ron for enabling him. (Ron adored her lectures, she was the only one in Hogwarts brave enough to lecture a dragon.)

"No, it's not your fault that your Aunt is a bigot and pretends that the Other World doesn't exist. It is your fault that you continue to be ignorant. Hogwarts houses the most comprehensive magical library in the world and you didn't even bother to research!"

She had a point on that one. Poor Harry hung his head and reached for the book. Ron frowned and patted his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity.

"If the book confuses you about dragons, you can ask me," Ron said kindly. "A lot of things about dragons are wrong."

Harry's grateful look was another one for the hoard.

"If the book confuses you about pixies, _don't ask me_ ," Hermione said irritably. "I'm a half-pixie, half-human, half-god. It's amazing I didn't explode into stardust the moment I was born."

Ron whined at her low in his throat, knowing she alone would hear. He didn't like to hear about any of them exploding. At all.

"Half-god?" Harry asked, taking the distraction and running with it. Anything to ignore the fifteen inch book.

"My dad was a hero," she explained. "And heroes have some of a god's essence or something, after they get chosen. My dad's supposed to belong to a fire god in the east, but he swallowed a lightning strike so his magic got confused. So he retired."

"How did he marry your mother?" Ron asked, finally unloading a curiosity that had plagued him since he met her.

Pixies were vengeful, vicious creatures that held long grudges. They were small and minded their own business. They were also increasingly difficult to find, given that Voldemort had marched most of his undead army through their forest. (That was part of what decimated his army, given that the pixies had gotten angry at the army trampling on their houses.)

Heroes had adventures all over the place and often offended pixies.

They ought not to have married at all.

"She saved his life by accident," Hermione said. "And he accidentally started a pixie courting ritual when he thanked her."

Harry sighed dreamily. "Your family is amazing," he said. "My mum was a witch, but my aunt was ordinary so she left the Other World. My dad apparently offended my uncle somehow, so they spent my entire life insisting I was crazy for seeing the Other World. It wasn't until Hagrid came that I realized I wasn't crazy, just different."

Ron patted Harry again. It soothed his irritated feelings.

"Now, don't keep stalling me, Harry Potter. Read the book," she said firmly.

Harry sighed and went back to his book.

.

* * *

Dumbledore banned entry to the third floor corridor and Hermione's curiosity went crazy. Harry's too.

"Aren't pixies supposed to not care about things that don't concern them?" Ron asked to stall the pair from charging inside the room.

"Blame my father," she answered, like all times she'd gone against a pixie's habits. "Heroes are supposed to investigate curiosities, you know. And help people."

Ron arched an eyebrow at Harry. "And what's your excuse?"

Harry smiled sunnily, having finally caught on what made Ron relax. It didn't help his gnawing sense of foreboding.

"I want to know," he declared. "There's something overwhelmingly magical hidden here and I want to know why. It's keeps asking for my attention."

Ron had felt that too, but he's not the sort to hoard curiosities. Percy might have, but being Prefect might have distracted him too much.

With a sigh, Ron helped them open the door, Harry's magic glowing a gentle green that made his eyes shine bright.

"Oh my gosh that's a Cerberus!" Hermione squealed with glee.

Ron wasn't too intimidated, his other self was fairly larger than the Cerberus, but that was a lot of teeth. It was impressive.

"How do we put him to sleep?" Ron asked. "All Cerberus have weaknesses."

The Cerberus finally noticed the three of them and advanced. Hermione realized this first and grabbed their hands, dragging them to the door and closing it with finality.

"Let's not do that again," Hermione declared.

Ron tried not to be too outraged at the hypocrisy. He arched an eyebrow at her, hoping it conveyed how he felt.

Hermione blushed. "Sorry Ron."

"We can ask Hagrid!" Harry said, finally showing some sense that he ought to have inherited from his witch of a mother. "He's the beastmaster so he should know these things.

.

* * *

Hagrid did indeed know.

And he was such an awful liar that the trio didn't even need Ron's nose or Harry's truth spell to know.

"So why is your Cerberus stuck in the third floor?" Hermione asked, eyes glinting.

"Not _my_ Cerberus," Hagrid tried to interrupt.

"So he's stuck there and no one's visiting?" Ron prodded, catching on.

"I bring him some cow every Sunday," was the answer.

Ron hoped his face didn't show his amusement. That was almost too easy. Harry had no such thought to the half-giant's dignity and laughed. Hermione smirked with a pixie's triumph, eyes glowing for a moment. Ron hoarded their smiles and laughter, and guiltily included Hagrid's sighs too. It was a beautiful sound, if a bit unhappy one.

Hagrid sighed in defeat and answered.

.

* * *

"So the headmaster's elf friend is taking a vacation and decided to leave his treasures – one of which includes the Elixir of Life, oh my gosh - inside Hogwarts," Hermione summarized. "And the headmaster, in all his wisdom, realized that leaving it unguarded would be very bad."

Ron snorted, inadvertently releasing a gust of smoke. "Hogwarts is secure, but it has too much traffic," he said with scorn. "If you have to hide treasure, put it in a place where no one will die if you place lethal protection."

Being a dragon, he knew how to defend hoards. Even if his wasn't tangible, it was just instinct.

"Lethal protection?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.

In reply, Ron showed his teeth.

Hermione huffed and Harry's eyes went wide with awe. Ron hoarded their lack of fear.

.

* * *

Rooming with a part dryad, part elf had its difficulties.

For one, when Neville had a nightmare, which he had often, his plants enveloped the room and removed all exits, basically making a cocoon.

This would be fine, since Ron liked closed spaces and he could burn his way through, if he wanted.

The problem was that Seamus was a Fire Sprite and tended to explode things when he was surprised or terrified.

And hurting a dryads plants was a big faux pas. Right up there with asking were-cats about hair balls.

Luckily, they had Harry, who was fast learning useful spells.

Also unluckily, they had Harry, whose spells tended to explode when he didn't concentrate on it properly.

"You have to change our rooms, Professor McGonagall," Ron said. He didn't know what his face showed, but her eyes were a bit wide. He was serious though. He didn't want to make his Harry cry, which he did when a spell exploded on him.

"I'll see to removing Mr. Longbottom to the Green Dorms," she said. "Where he should have been at the very beginning. Who did your room placements?"

Ron didn't know - he just got it from the prefects.

Her nostrils flared and her eyes turned cat-yellow in irritation. "I will get to the bottom of this. And you should not have Harry rooming with you, he should be sleeping in the Magical dorms."

This, Ron did not like. He straightened his back and raised his chin – a dragon defending his hoard.

"Do not remove him, he is bearable," Ron said, archaic speech spilling out in his urgency. "I will thank you to not interfere with him."

McGonagall sighed but Ron smelled her resignation and didn't push the point.

.

* * *

Ron's family were the first in a few centuries to attend Hogwarts, as such, his clutch-brother Bill was something of a successful experiment. Given that he didn't eat anyone in his attendance, Ron agreed.

Ron often wondered how he could stand it though. The gathering of magical beasts and magicians made such distracting scents. Visiting his hoard helped.

Ron's hoard was intangible, but that didn't mean he couldn't visit it in his mind. His hoard was located in the deep sections, where the knowledge from his ancestors was buried deep too. His mind-shape was just as large as his normal shape and he looked at the Lake of his hoard with affection. When he would live long enough and collected many, he knew his lake would become an ocean.

And then his dorm mates woke him up with their loud laughter over their homework.

With a sigh, Ron got up from his nest and shook himself, tucking in the tail he had manifested in his sleep.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Harry asked, mirth in his voice. "You're eyes are dragon-gold."

Ron huffed irritably and tried to calm himself down with his Harry's scent. It was easy since Harry always smelt like the ocean and the deep fires of the earth.

"Homework," he said. He felt it was safer to speak with just one word.

Harry grabbed his hand, not even flinching at the heat, or the pinprick of the little red scales that never went away in Ron's smaller shape.

"Hermione's busy having a debate with the fairies in the White Dorm," Harry said. His green eyes were bright with pleasure and Ron hoarded it, feeling himself calm down at the sight. "Of course, given that Hermione's a mix, she doesn't have wings but she says its instinct to know how to fly."

Ron got stalled at the statement.

"No one knows flight better than dragons," Ron stated. It was fact. The most basic and intrinsic knowledge of self – of being a dragon – was buried deep inside Ron's mind, like it was with all other dragons. The knowledge was passed form dragon to dragon inside their dam's womb. "They should have invited me."

Harry grinned with delight. "Yeah? I want to fly by myself someday. Other wizards invented things to make flight possible, but I want to fly on my own magic, nothing below me."

If anyone could do it, it would be Harry. Not because Harry was the last descendant of the line of Merlin, but because Ron was a magical beast and could feel how indescribably powerful Harry was.

It sometimes steamed off him when he was angry and curled around him when he was sad. Ron wondered if anyone else saw it.

Ron inhaled Harry's gratefulness when he said, "You can do it. If anyone can, I know it would be you."

Harry seemed to vibrate with pleasure and tackled the dragon with a hug. "You're the best friend anyone could ever ask for."

He hoarded the moment and understood, for a fleeting moment, how his clutch-brother survived Hogwarts.

.

* * *

Hagrid might have some dragon blood in him too, because the trio catches him hatching a dragons egg.

Ron tried not to be too outraged, but it was difficult, especially because the egg reminded him of his clutch-sister's egg before she hatched.

"Where did you get that?" Ron asked Hagrid.

At least the beasmaster's hands were capable and sure, exuding an aura of confidence that young hatchlings found reassuring. That would be a good thing for the hatchling to feel. Ron didn't relax an inch though. Only dams were supposed to be involved in the business of hatching a clutch-egg. Sire's and other male dragons were not supposed to be around at all.

"Ron, calm down," Hermione whispered.

He figured that his eyes must be dragon-gold. He tried to calm down.

"I won it in a pub!" the beastmaster obliviously answered enthusiastically. "I've always wanted to witness a dragon hatch. No one has ever seen one hatch before."

With good reason. Hatchlings need their dams.

Ron took a deep breath and concentrated in order not to release a puff of smoke. The scent entered his mind and reminded him of his clutch-sister's egg pulsing before cracking open with violence, almost piercing his wings because he didn't listen to his sire to get out of the den.

With some desperation, he turned to Harry. The wizard noted his face and dragged him outside.

"Deep breaths, alright? Just, breathe," Harry coaxed. He exchanged a glance with Hermione and they both hover with worry over him. Ron tried to concentrate on their concern to relax himself.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked once Ron's scales felt less itchy and stiff.

He shook his head. "I don't understand the beastmaster's fascination with hatching. It is a violent, dangerous affair that only the dams should see. Even my sire does not stay for it."

Harry kept on patting his hand. Ron allowed the rhythm to soothe him. "You're not the youngest, are you? So you must have seen one."

Ron pulled the two of them to the castle. He's manifesting more scales than usual and his tail itched to swing in agitation. He's a bit too distracted to notice.

"My clutch-sister's hatching almost tore a hole through my wings," he explained, watching their eyes go wide. But it was in understanding, not fear. "Even if the beastmaster is half-giant, I don't think he will survive it."

"Do you think anyone in your family will help?" Hermione asked, already a couple of steps ahead. Ron absorbed her determination and admired her like his distant cousins admired their jewels.

"My clutch-brother Charlie is near the area in a quest. He might help," he said after a moment's thought.

.

* * *

Clutch-brother Charlie doesn't smell like he appreciated the interruption to his quest. Ron does not care. The beastmaster gave him some nice things to his hoard and Ron would like more.

"The beastmaster has a dragon egg," Ron said without preamble. Prolonging things was not how dragons worked. "It is about to hatch."

Charlie's eyes go wide and he looked exited. "There's a den in the south whose dam is on a rampage. That might be it."

Negotiating the release of the dragon egg from the beastmaster was infinitely more difficult, but like all giants, Hagrid accepted a trade once he realized that with the nature of Ron's hoard, he could give away his memories like they were tangible. It still made him itch something fierce.

"I will let you see how my clutch-sister hatched," Ron said, holding the shimmering star of a memory in between two forefingers. "And you must release that egg. I do not like to see you injured, which is what you will be if you continue."

Harry patted his arm again, and Ron realized he'd slipped into archaic language in his irritation at the man.

Charlie watched their interaction with intent dragon-gold eyes.

As the dragon egg was finally wrapped up in Harry's protection spells and cushion spells, Charlie dragged him to the side and hissed quietly enough that Hermione won't hear.

"What are you doing, clutch-brother?" he asked. "It is against the rules to hoard a sentient."

Ron frowned at him severely. "You know my hoard is not like that."

Charlie looked disbelieving and Ron restrains the urge to roar at him in challenge. No dragon liked to be called a liar.

"Have care, clutch-brother," Charlie said slowly. "Hoards change. Visit your hoarding place and notice. It is against the law."

Ron's nostrils flared. Charlie ruffled his hair apologetically and left.

.

* * *

Every once a month, Ron was allowed to change into a dragon and hunt in the forest.

Usually, he feasted on the herd of deer they have for the carnivorous magical beasts in Hogwarts. His irritation for Charlie fresh, however, he decided to land by a large lake and brood.

He's not allowed to brood long, because a herd of unicorns passed by.

He kept himself still so they don't startle.

It's useless though, because Hermione flies through the air at breakneck speeds that _should_ be reserved for the larger fliers only and not small pixies like Hermione. Her landing wasn't graceful and it startled the unicorns to running.

Ron sighed.

"He's driving me insane!" Hermione started, not even giving a greeting. "He just discovered he could talk to Inanimate Objects and he's now going through the trapdoor without me – us." she corrects herself hastily. "If he gets hurt, I'll kill him."

Ron blinked at her lazily and took in her frazzled air and the lightning shooting from her hair, frying everything around her with strange precision.

"The trapdoor?" he repeated, just for clarification. "Where on the griffins nest could he have learned that skill?"

Hermione stomped her foot. "You're not taking this seriously. We should go after him. Ron!"

The thought of Harry getting injured is enough for Ron to move, so he laboriously gets up and shakes the birds that always end up sleeping on him for his body heat. Hermione backs away to give him space and looks nervous but unafraid. Just for that, Ron decided to allow her to ride on him.

"We will get there faster," he said. "Get on me."

Hermione clutched at his neck but whooped in exhilaration at his speed. Ron felt his nose twitch and settle into a dragon-grin and he hoarded her laughter, turning it into a gem for whenever she looked like she wanted to cry.

The herd of Alicorns flying their circuit around Hogwarts is enough of a screen so Ron alights down slowly, hiding his true-self and becoming smaller. It itched to be smaller after a whole day of being so large, but Ron pushed the thought away, it always took a while to be smaller.

"Third floor?" he asked her and she nodded.

They bounded through the corridors and the stairs, and in this, Hermione was faster than him. She was the daughter of a pixie and the grandchild of a lightning god. Hermione was fast, fleeting and vicious. Ron liked having her by his side while they tried to save the last descendant of Merlin's wizarding line from his own curiosity.

"Fluffy?" Hermione asked, not even winded.

Ron expanded his lungs momentarily for more oxygen and nodded grimly. "I will take care of him."

And Ron did. Fluffy, compared to his true-self, was smaller. He usually kept the awareness of his real size hidden and tucked away but faced with the Cerberus, Ron lets loose and allows the knowledge of his immense _vastness_ and potential danger to the Cerberus.

Fluffy winced and cowered, leaving the trapdoor uncovered.

Hermione opened it with an admiring look aimed at him. "I know you're a scary dragon," she said as she dusted her palms. "But I sometimes forget it. You're just such a mother, you know?"

Ron spluttered and Hermione grinned, diving into the hole with a flutter of skirts – reminding him for a moment of wings that could not manifest yet.

"I am not," Ron protested, jumping after her.

Hermione's laughter, no matter how inappropriate, was hoarded.

.

* * *

The Devil's Snare was burned away with dragon fire. The keys were caught by Hermione, though there were some moments Ron feared she would electrocute herself. They flew over the Chess Pieces and dodged their attempted swipes to stop them. A swamp with the troll was a bit more troubling, given the charm that disabled flight, making Hermione hiss viciously at it. Luckily, the troll remembered Hermione and cowered.

The row of potion's vials was a bit more troublesome, as was the fire.

"In my true-self, I can walk through fire fine," Ron said irritably, eyeing the wall of black fire. "But if I change here, I might collapse the castle."

Hermione mouthed along the riddle, glancing back at him occasionally with some worry. After a moment, she grasped two bottles.

"This one brings you forward. The other one beings you back," she announced. She practically exuded worry.

Ron took the latter without hesitation. "I am a good strategist," he explained when she looked like she might protest. "But I am not very good with short term, quick plans. You can take care of him better."

Hermione bit her lip and hugged him extra hard.

Ron hoarded her fever-bright eyes and watched her back as she left.

.

* * *

Waiting was difficult.

Waiting was always difficult.

As a dragon, Ron knew patience and waiting for something. But waiting and not knowing was one of the worst combinations in the world.

He paced agitatedly at by the entrance to give poor Fluffy some peace.

He closed his eyes and mentally takes out the memories he had hoarded and goes through them one by one. He started with the gems of their laughter. The silver-bright of their smiles. The spun-gold brilliance of their happiness.

If one of his hoard – and yes, he was finally aware enough to realize that he had hoarded a sentient – if they died, Ron's heart would break and he would rampage with the pain of it.

Steps, not coming from inside the room, take his attention and he sees Dumbledore. The White Mage's eyes are wide.

"He's gone inside?" he demanded.

Ron held back a growl with some difficulty. Being so worried was not good for his control.

"Yes. He discovered he could talk to Inanimate Objects."

He wanted to bite something.

The headmaster took his hand with a questioning look and teleports them to the last room, the room that Ron had scented his hoard in but could not get to without breaking several school rules.

He restrained himself from flying to their aid.

The scent of rot in the air made him recoil and he hissed involuntarily.

"Necromancer," he growled.

The headmaster's face was grave.

.

* * *

There was only one Necromancer who would dare to go near a White Mage's territory and he was supposed to have died years ago, killed by Harry Potter's mother as she defended her child to the death.

"Tom Riddle!" Professor Dumbledore sighed, the name echoing in the silent room.

Ron did not care that it's not the name he had expected to hear. He realized, a bit distantly, that no mother would name their child Voldemort, unless they were one of the French High Elves – which the Necromancer decidedly was _not_.

"So that's his name!" Harry exclaimed, no preservation instincts at all. Or that was what Ron would think if he didn't know that the face Harry was wearing was his determination not to be afraid at all, despite everything. (It was the same face he wore when Professor Snape – the moody Vampire – took his temper out at his students.)

"That's not my name!" the Necromancer hissed. "I threw that name away a long time ago!"

"Anyone who was my student will have their name used properly," Professor Dumbledore said firmly.

Tom Riddle didn't agree and threw a ball of baelfyre at the Professor, who caught it in a net of white magic and set it on the floor. Ron tried not to get too nervous, knowing what would happen if that net would falter.

Dumbledore sent out another net but a hastily summoned cadre of Skeleton Warriors blocked it instead.

Ron decided to be sensible and stand by his hoard.

"Who do you think is going to win?" Harry asked the moment he was tucked safely beneath the shadow of Ron's wings.

Hermione bit her lip nervously, watching the proceedings without blinking. "I would say Professor Dumbledore, but…"

The half-pixie was smart but she was not quite as ruthless as a true pixie. Ron didn't blame her for not noticing it though.

"If Riddle decides not to play gentle, then the Professor will lose," Ron said as quietly as possible. It wouldn't do to give the Necromancer ideas. "This room is a bad location for the Headmaster. It's underground – away from the sun, and there are spells he cannot use because we are here."

Harry caught on quickly. "We're liabilities then. Hang on, I'll prepare a shield," he said, fumbling a bit with his staff.

Hermione clapped her hands and started to pray to her god, lightning running through her hair but somehow not doing anything except make it bushier.

Ron breathed out and _watched._

.

* * *

.

Tom Riddle's mistake was trying to hurt Harry.

In general, Ron's bloodline were called Gentle Dragons, the ones who preferred to study philosophy, write scrolls that were so complicated that it took several references to understand and advice emperors and kings.

Truthfully, those dragons had long ago understood the true meaning of strength.

Just because one had strength did not mean you understood how to use it.

A truly wise dragon knew when to breathe fire and when to bite – and when not to involve yourself at all.

Ron knew all this, had it written in his blood as he broke free from his shell.

He also knew this as he watched the column of fiendfyre head towards Harry, the brave idiot who knelt in front of them holding up his strongest barrier. He knew that the moment he involved himself for Harry's sake, all the dragons of his kind would be involved too.

Ron knew this and Changed.

.

* * *

Ron ate the fire, feeling the black magic scorch down his throat and into his stomach. The fire did not hurt him, but the magic that lived inside that fire was a different story altogether.

It didn't like him, it didn't like anything. The very malice of the person who casted it made him nauseous, if that malice lived on in their magic then they must have been a very awful person indeed.

Ron finally understood why his dour and angry Potion's Professor switched sides in the war.

There was a rumor that Vampires could feel emotions when they matured.

"The Fire God burn you with fire!" he could hear Hermione shrieking at the Necromancer as he blinked through the haze of pain. "May his holy blessing tear away your flesh and your bones. Let all the blessed land reject your very spirit and may your blood weep from the stones!"

"Wow Hermione," Harry breathed out beside Ron, the healing blue of magic emanating from his palms. "That was a very proper curse. It rhymed and everything."

Luckily, Hermione was too incensed to react to Harry's commentary. Her hair was not just emanating lightning, it was practically floating above her head, forming a singular flame – the symbol of the fire god her father worshipped. And who probably favored her too, given the smoke steaming from her skin.

"Hermione looks like she could call down the fire god's blessing from the sky," Ron remarked to Harry quietly.

Harry hushed him, swatting at his nose gently. "Stop talking, your throat sounds awful. The black magic burned you. But yes she does. And she is actually blessing him."

To bless a Necromancer was the worst thing you could ever do to them. Holy Magic was their worst weakness.

Unfortunately, very few heroes served truly Light Gods. Not even a Light Mage's best spell could compare to a true Blessing.

Fortunately, Hermione was there and began glowing in red fire.

Ron knew that it was working because the fire didn't feel hot, or cold or anything at all. If he didn't trust his eyes, he would have thought he was hallucinating.

To Tom Riddle-the Necromancer, it was the hottest thing they had ever felt in their life. The rotting corpse he possessed screamed with torn vocal cords. It sounded horrible and he could feel Harry cringing beside him, curling at his neck with a stifled whimper.

The possession broke with an ear-splitting _rip!_ and he tried to escape.

Professor Dumbledore was having none of it and the temper that had simmered in those gentle blue eyes made it steely as he clapped his hands, catching the writhing black spirit in his hands.

"No, Tom," Dumbledore said gently, a sad tone that somehow made everything more real. It was that pity that seemed to break the spirit's struggles. "Scream out but do not harm. What you have taken by force will be returned. What you have torn without right will be restored. For Magic is only borrowed."

The words sounded like rules and Harry sat up beside Ron. "That's the spell of Renewal," he whispered. "Only if you've done all you could to redeem them can it ever be casted, otherwise it would never work. He didn't finish it though."

Ron canted his head to the side in query, conscious of his abused throat.

Professor Dumbledore's hands glowed a gentle white. The light, however gentle, still burned Ron's eyes and he closed them.

"What is taken shall be returned," Harry said softly, a chanting cadence lilting his words. "What was torn will be mended. Magic is only borrowed. Flood the rivers you have damned and empty the desserts you have flooded. Reverse what you have broken and let your remorse break all spells you have casted."

Hermione, finally back to normal with nor fire or lightning on her person, huffed. "I suppose he stopped there, because I don't think that Necromancer felt any remorse. The Fire God certainly didn't like him."

The smile Harry gave her was dry. "You don't say?" he said, pointedly looking at the ashes decorating her face and her hands.

They broke out into laughter and Ron hoarded the glittering sapphires of their amusement.

The headmaster cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at them. Somehow, it made everything even more hilarious and Ron finally let out a hoarse chuckle.

.

* * *

Ron's problems weren't over, but a majority of the threat to his hoard was over, so he unwound.

His dam took one look at his face when school as over and groaned.

"No!" she scolded him firmly. "No sentient hoards!"

"I didn't mean to?" he offered.

It didn't solve anything at all. His sire in his human form sighed.

Ron guiltily thought of the glittering gems in his hoard, all their laughter and friendship in his mind. He didn't regret it one bit.

 **.**

* * *

 **So, I had this story out for a while, I even posted some parts of it in tumblr, for those of you who find this familiar. I only ever had time to finish it now.**

 **The whole time I was writing this, I kept imagining grumpy dragon Ron following around Trouble Magnet Harry. And Hermione, instead of being sensible, just keeps egging him on.**

 **So, possible questions:**

 ** _What the hell is Hermione_ _really?_**

 **She's not actually classified as a pixie. She's actually classified as a Hero with Pixie blood. (Not the other way around. Not, you know, Pixie with Hero blood). So imagine how terrifying this is. Hermione Granger with Harry Potter's curiosity and propensity for breaking rules. Imagine that and shudder with me.**

 **Ron Weasley the fire dragon really has problems.**

 _ **Are all Necromancer's**_ **evil?**

 **Nope. There are good Necromancer's and there are bad Necromancers. The bad ones just get a lot of publicity. The good ones keep themselves quiet.**

 _ **Was this really just the Philosopher's Stone with Fantasy AU?**_

 **Nope. Well, a bit. Because Light Wizards usually head schools and usually are friends with elves. The problem is...some elves have treasures too and are prone to leaving them everywhere that it causes some problems. Hence, Dumbledore just not even grumbling as he cleans after his flighty elf friend. (Elves are not as regal and elegant as the books say. Elves are forgetful, invincible and immortal.)**


End file.
